Peeta
by JustMeDeal
Summary: Takes place from the beginning of the first book. The Hunger Games from Peeta's POV, with some of my own adaptions, of course!


**Peeta's POV. Takes place from the beginning of _The Hunger Games._ I wish I was Suzanne Collins, but nope. :(**

Today is sweltering. As I sink my hands into a large, sticky glob of bread dough, I imagine what it would be like to work in the coalmines on a day like this. Would it be hotter than the surface world, like you were trapped, along with the coal you are digging for, in a claustrophobic furnace of heat? Or would it be cooler, the darkness taking away the warmth of the sun, the dirt and stone chilling even through your thick leather gloves?

All I know is that this batch of dough will be salty with my sweat by the time I am done with it. As I knead it, I can feel each muscle in my arms contracting and relaxing, trying to smooth flour into the gluey mess. I know exactly how to dig my knuckles into it, how to flip it over and coat the other side with more flour. I know how to divide it into equal globs, how to slide them into the oven without burning my hands. When they're done baking, I know how to wrap them up in paper so that they won't get stale for another two days. I know how to sell them to customers and how to count out the coins we earn.

I do not know how to talk to Katniss Everdeen.

She sits by herself at lunch, and she would sit alone in classes, too, if our school provided enough seats for that. She avoids answering questions unless directly asked, and her eyes dart toward the windows approximately every thirty seconds. She never smiles or tries to talk to anyone, and the only time her shoulders relax is when she is out in the streets again, holding her little sister's hand and occasionally talking to Gale Hawthorne as they walk out of town and back toward the Seam.

Sometimes—and this is very rarely—she will glance in my direction. I know I am probably flattering myself to assume she's looking at me, but her gray eyes never seem to travel without a purpose, and her infrequent glances almost seem like she's getting an update. Yes, Peeta Mellark still goes to this school. Yes, he still stares at me all through class. No need to check back in for another few weeks.

Maybe that's just in my head. Maybe she doesn't even know that there is such a person as Peeta Mellark, baker's son. Maybe she's dating Gale Hawthorne already, and I should just give up any hope at all of capturing her heart. Maybe… Maybe…

"Peeta," my father says softly from behind me. I jump slightly, but don't turn my attention away from the dry ingredients I am now sifting together for cookies. "Peeta," he repeats, even more quietly this time. "I want you to take a break. Do you want to have icing in your hair when you go to the reaping?"

I turn and see that he is smiling gently, trying to stay calm on the day every parent fears.

"No," I say, smiling back. "I wouldn't want to look anything less than my best for Effie Trinket."

My father's smile falters for a moment and he takes the sifter from my hands. "I can only hope that you will never have to take Effie Trinket's opinion into consideration, Peeta."

We all stand straight, occasionally fidgeting with our stiff, formal reaping clothes, divided by gender into two massive groups. The younger children are near the front—a swarm of nervous twelve-year-olds. Near the back are the older kids, the ones who are more likely to be chosen, their names having been submitted for the reaping multiple times in exchange for food and oil. I know I am virtually safe—my name has only been submitted once this year. I am more worried for Katniss. Any kid from the Seam will have submitted their name at least three or four times, but knowing Katniss, she will have taken this to the extreme. She'll be pushing her luck today.

Effie Trinket appears on stage. She talks briefly and then makes her usual announcement for the drawing: "Ladies first!"

I bounce on my toes a little and try to catch a glimpse of Katniss in the girls' crowd. I can't see her.

"Primrose Everdeen!" Effie calls.

For a moment, I feel better. Katniss has not been called; Katniss is safe. And then the horror sets in, because the little girl making her way towards the stage is terrifyingly familiar and I see an even more familiar girl break from the crowd and go running after the miniature version of herself.

"Prim!" the beautiful girl with the dark hair and gray eyes gasps. "Prim!" Katniss is near the stage now, pushing her sister aside and panting for breath. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Effie Trinket says something disgustingly enthusiastic about this twist in the reaping, but I hardly hear the comment that would normally infuriate me. All I hear is Katniss's voice, echoing in my head. _I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!_ I see her standing there on the stage, looking straight ahead. Sentenced to death.

**Please Review! **


End file.
